The Singer, The Dancer, and the Opera Ghost
by Celtic Tiger
Summary: We all know the famous love story of the Phantom of the Opera however, this is the story behind the story...a story of devotion and loyalty, betrayal, and above all, love...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and/or story line of the Phantom of the Opera. The characters and plot line that I have used are based off of the 2004 movie and also some parts of the ALW play (therefore I will use quotes from the movie and/or play). The only character that I claim to own is the ballet dancer, Cosette. I should also mention that even though I am a full supporter of Erik/Christine pairings, this will be an Erik/Meg pairing.

Reviews are appreciated! However, this is my first fan fic, so please be nice! Thank you, and enjoy!

Paris 1919

It was a cold and blustery November morning in Paris. The old opera house was holding an auction before renovating for a new theater. It was not crowded, the bidders consisting of a few junk dealers and a couple middle class Parisians.

The old woman in black gazed nonchalantly at the items that were being presented by the porters. In her time, when she was employed at the Opera Populaire, these items were merely props used for the stage productions. They meant nothing to her then, and still held no place in her heart. She was here out of pure curiosity.

The auditorium was in complete shambles. Layers upon layers of dust covered everything from the stage to the beautifully sculpted statues. At the far back of the theater, there was a massive canvas covering what she assumed to be the shattered chandelier. The memory of the destruction of the opera house was enough to cause chills to creep along her skin. A disastrous fire had occurred that night, and so many people had been killed. The screams still echoed faintly in the back of her mind.

"Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen: a poster for this house's production of _Hannibal_ by Chalumeau."

The porter rolled out the large theater poster, the famous diva La Carlotta pictured under the title.

"Do I have ten francs?"

Seeing that there were no bidders, the auctioneer lowered the price. "Five then. Five I am bid. Six…"

Another man raised his hand. "Seven…against, you sir, seven. Eight? Eight once. Selling twice. Sold, to Monsieur Deferre. Thank you very much, sir."

The woman in black was becoming fatigued, seeing as there was nothing of interest. It was then that an elderly man was wheeled in by a nun, and accompanied by driver. She stared at him for a moment until he returned her gaze, recognition apparent in his eyes.

"Lot 664: a wooden pistol and three human skulls from the 1831 production of _Roberte le Diable_ by Meyerbeer. Ten francs for this. Ten, thank you. Ten still, fifteen, thank you. Fifteen I am bid. Going at fifteen."

The auctioneer slammed his gavel.

"Your number, sir? Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mâché musical box in the shape of a barrel-organ."

The woman broke her stare at the man in the wheel chair, suddenly interested in what the porter was showing. Apparently, so was the gentleman, for he motioned to his nurse his want.

"Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theater, still in working order ladies and gentlemen."

"Showing here." The porter set the music box in motion.

A haunting tune echoed from the little box as past remembrances flooded the minds of both the old man and the woman. Both were determined to out bid the other.

"May I commence at fifteen francs?" the auctioneer asked.

The woman raised her hand.

"Fifteen, thank you."

The man was next to bid. "Yes, twenty from you sir, thank you very much."

Again the woman raised her hand. "Madame Giry, twenty-five. Thank you madam. Do I hear thirty? Thirty!"

Madame Giry looked again at the man in the wheel chair. Her gaze softened as she realized how much this piece meant to him. Surely he would have a better use for it then her.

"And thirty-five?" the auctioneer continued.

She shook her head and the old man seemed to have let out a sigh of relief.

"Selling at thirty francs then. Thirty once, thirty twice…sold for thirty francs, to the Vicomte de Changy. Thank you sir."

The porter handed the Vicomte the music box, and he held it within his feeble grasp as if it was the most precious thing he had ever received. Madame Giry noticed a tear stream down his right cheek.

"Lot 666 then: a chandelier in pieces."

The small crowd turned their attention to the back where the canvas lay over the broken piece.

The auctioneer continued with a story. "Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained. We are told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it and wired parts of it for the new electric light. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination. Gentlemen?"

With a whirlwind of dust a cobwebs, the canvas was removed and the chandelier was lifted from the floor. The site of the lit chandelier caused the Vicomte and Madame Giry to gasp. For a brief moment a vision of the restored Opera Populaire flashed in front of their disbelieving eyes.

It was not raised to the top, but high enough for all to see. Neither could believe that this was the elegant chandelier that once donned the extravagant theater…

The remains were bought by a wealthy aristocrat who had wandered into the auction at the last minute. He explained to his scolding wife that he meant to have it reconstructed and donate it back to the repaired opera house.

"It is where it belongs." He stated simply.

The crowd left the opera house in silence. Madame Giry watched from the steps as the Vicomte was helped into his car. Where was the young, dashing boy she had known so long ago?

He gazed out the window and nodded his head towards her in farewell. Madame Giry returned the gesture, sure that it would be the last time she would ever see him.

She then removed her glove and looked down at the ring that adorned her right hand. There was one more place she had to visit before she left Paris…


	2. Hannibal Rehearsal

The Opera Populaire 1870

Meg Giry gave an exaggerated sigh as she leaned against the door to the dancers' dressing room. She eyed her friend Christine Daae in the mirror, her annoyed expression only too obvious to her feelings.

"We shall be late for rehearsal, Christine…again! Mother will have our heads!" Meg exclaimed.

Despite her friend's annoyance, Christine smiled as she fixed the earring into her left ear. "I'm coming!"

As she stood, she adjusted the rather provocative top to slave costume she wore. Her entire midriff was bare, and although the bottom piece of her costume allowed a ballet dancer all the movement in the world, she couldn't help but feel somewhat naked. "Did I ever tell you how much I hate this production?" Christine frowned as she looked at her reflection.

Meg sighed again and grabbed Christine's wrist, pulling her out the door. "Only since Monsieur Lefevre announced we would be performing it. Dear God! Mother will kill us both!"

"Oh Meg, you exaggerate."

Meg stopped in her place and turned to face Christine. "You didn't have to answer to her the last time we were late for rehearsal! I'm fortunate I'm still dancing in the lead tonight!"

She hadn't meant to speak so sharply to her, but the memory of her mother publicly scolding her was still fresh in her mind.

Meg saw the sudden flush that appeared on her friend's cheeks. "You're right, Meg. I didn't mean to get you into trouble. I'm sorry."

It was hard to remain angry with Christine. Her heart was in the right place, but sometimes she still acted like a child instead of the young woman she was becoming. Meg smiled at her and hugged her gently.

"It's all right, I've put it behind me. Now come!"

They raced to the end of the hall and down the spiral staircase to where the other ballet girls were assembled. Madame Giry cast them a stern look, but they waved it off and continued with their exercises. As soon as she had passed by them, Meg leaned forward and whispered into Christine's ear.

"I saw you leave before dawn, Christine."

"What?"

Meg furrowed her brow. She could not determine if she was just playing stupid or if the noise of the opera's diva, La Carlotta, was drowning out her words.

"Where did you go this morning, Christine? Did you have another nightmare?"

But before Christine could answer, the manager of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Lefevre, and three other gentlemen who were well dressed passed by. Lefevre was waving his arms excitedly and pointing out the more distinguished members of the opera.

"And as you can see, gentlemen, rehearsals are under way for a new production of Chalumeau's _Hannibal_." Lefevre said.

All rehearsals stopped as the stagehands and cast turned to see their guests. The elderly conductor, Reyer, was at his wits end with the intrusion.

"For heaven's sake! Monsieur Lefevre, _I am rehearsing_!" he cried.

Lefevre raised his hands in defense. "I am quite aware of that, but ladies and gentlemen, if I could have you attention for a moment, I have an announcement to make. As I'm sure you all know, their have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now confirm these rumors and would like to introduce to you your _new_ managers, Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre."

The two men seemed almost a comical display. One was quite tall and the other coming only to the other's shoulder. By their appearance and dress, it was obvious their baptism into aristocracy was recent. Their knowledge of theater was, no doubt, minimal.

"And it is our pleasure to introduce our new patron…" Firmin added.

"The Vicomte de Chagny." Andre finished.

A young man, no more than twenty, walked onto the stage. He was tall, with shoulder length brownish blonde hair, blue eyes, and high cheek bones.

Christine gasped suddenly. Meg turned in time to see her face flush and a slight smile appear on her face.

"It's Raoul!" Christine said in an excited whisper. "The little boy who fetched my scarf when it blew into the sea. I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts."

Meg looked back at the Vicomte. "He's very handsome."

"Do you think he'll remember me?" She sounded worried.

"Of course he will."

The Vicomte made his short debut, receiving a polite applause from the gathered crowd, before being introduced to Carlotta and Piangi and making his exit.

"Thank you Monsieur le Vicomte! And now, once more if you please, Signor Piangi!" Reyer shouted as the managers walked off stage.

Christine held her head up high, hoping to catch the attention of the Vicomte as he passed, but to no avail. Meg saw the evident hurt in her eyes.

"He wouldn't recognize me." Christine whispered.

"He didn't see you." Meg corrected her before parting to take her place for the ballet.

Off to the side, her mother was showing the new managers the finer points of the most excellent ballet corps in Paris. However, their words and gazes of curiosity vanished as the music began. Her love and life was dance. She was born and raised in this opera house with nothing but music and dance to shape her earliest childhood memories. At first she was a bit clumsy on her feet, but nothing a few extra hours of practice couldn't handle.

And now, at the prime age of nineteen, Meg Giry was well on her way to be the next prima ballerina. The only thing that stood in her way was the all too conceited Cosette. She was five years her senior and showed no sign of retiring her head role. Only Madame Giry was able to put her in her place when fame got the best of her. Oh, but it would only take a slight twist of the ankle and Meg would be in the spotlight…

As the scene came to a close, Carlotta nearly screamed out the last few notes, aggravation written plainly on her face. As usual, the men were staring at the naked midriffs and bare legs of the young dancers.

"All they want is dancing!" She shouted as the music ended. The managers were too amused with their conversations to notice.

"Well the Vicomte is very excited about tonight's gala!" Lefevre said excitedly before noticing the apprehensive expression on Andre's face. Carlotta was approaching and Meg could tell that the new managers would finally see the true side of _La Carlotta_.

"Meg,"

Meg turned at the sound of her name to see Christine approaching her. The dark curls of her hair were slightly out of place from the dance and a soft sheen of perspiration covered her forehead. Meg could only guess that she looked no better.

"What's wrong?" Meg asked.

"It's nothing really, but, will you please tell your mother that I won't be joining you for lunch? There is something I must do."

"But what…"

Meg was cut off by the insistent shushing of the arrogant Italian diva. "That woman is the devil." Meg whispered.

Reyer took his place, and breathed deeply. "Signora?"

"Maestro."

The piano began the first few notes of Carlotta's aria. She placed her hands in their exaggerated positions and took a deep breath before she sang…

"_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…"_

Christine rolled her eyes. "Really, she murders the words before making anything sound like music…"

Meg suppressed a giggle, but a sudden movement from above caught her attention. A black shadow moved along the catwalks where the scene shifters should have been. She looked back at Carlotta and let out a scream as the backdrop plummeted downward onto the diva.

"You idiots!" Piangi shouted furiously, glaring up to where the scene shifters raced along the catwalk. "Signora! Lift it up you fools! Lift it up!"

"The Phantom of the Opera…" Meg whispered to Christine. Christine returned her frightened gaze.

"Signora, are you alright?" Lefevre asked as the managers rushed to her side.

"My ankle!" Carlotta screamed, pounding on the floor like a spoiled child.

"Buquet! For God's sake man, what's going on up there?" Lefevre screamed angrily.

A short, burly man with tangled gray hair and a red face struggled to lift the backdrop from the outraged diva. Joseph Buquet was known more as a superstitious, perverted drunk then the head scene shifter at the Opera Populaire. "Please monsieur, don't look at me! I wasn't at my post! There's no one there, monsieur!" Buquet shouted, and then added more sarcastically, "Or if there is, well then…it must be a ghost.'

Piangi and Lefevre helped Carlotta to her feet.

Andre gave a nervous laugh. "Signora, these things do happen."

"For the past three years 'these things do happen'!" She pointed an accusing finger at Lefevre. "And do you stop these things from happening? No! And you two, you are as bad as him! And until you stop these things from happening, _this thing_ does _not_ happen!"

Carlotta turned on her heel and stormed off stage. "Ubaldo! Andiamo!"

Piangi followed like an obedient dog along with her seamstress, hairdresser, and maid.

"He's cursed us," Christine whispered. "We'll never be able to carry on with the performance tonight."

"Christine, I never knew you were so superstitious." Meg laughed.

"I'm not…"

Lefevre gave his final adieu to Firmin and Andre, ready to wash his hands of the outcome of the godforsaken opera house. The new managers soon found themselves in a rather awkward predicament as the entire company gazed at them. Madame Giry broke the silence.

"I have a message, messieurs, from the Opera Ghost." She revealed a black bordered envelope with the seal of a red skull.

The ballet girls whispered hushed fears.

_Oh, do stop it…_ Meg thought silently.

"God in Heaven! You're all obsessed!" Firmin shouted angrily.

Madame Giry gave him a crude look before summarizing the Ghost's welcoming note.

"He's mad, Andre! Where does he think we'll get twenty thousand francs from?" Firmin exclaimed, tearing the note from Madame Giry's hands.

Andre's face had paled. He was speechless.

"In all actuality, messieurs, it is a mere trifle that he asks of you. But perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomte as your patron." Madame Giry replied.

Firmin glared at her. "Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement public tonight, when the Vicomte was to join us for the gala. But obviously, we shall now have to cancel, as it appears we have lost our star!"

Meg and Christine exchanged anxious glances.

"They wouldn't!" Meg felt her heart nearly stop.

Andre shook his head in aggravation. "But surely there must be a, um, a…"

"An understudy!" shouted a singer.

"Yes! An…"

"There is no _understudy _for La Carlotta!" Reyer fumed.

Firmin again turned to Andre. "A full house, Andre! We shall have to refund a full house!"

The company burst into a frenzied buzzing. "This is mad!" someone cried.

Meg looked at Christine and then addressed the managers. "Christine Daae could sing it, messieurs." Everyone became silent again and focused their attention on the young brunette.

Christine gave her a wide-eyed look. "_What are you doing_?" she hissed.

"Saving this production…"

"A chorus girl? Don't be silly…"Andre brushed her off.

Meg looked pleadingly at her mother.

"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher." Madame Giry walked over to Christine and placed a hand on her shoulder.

Meg held back a frown. A great teacher, indeed.

"Who?" Andre seemed curious.

Christine looked to Madame Giry and then back at Andre. "I don't know his name, monsieur."

"Let her sing for you. She has been well taught." Madame Giry encouraged.

"Well…all right." Andre ushered Christine forward. "Come along, don't be shy."

Reyer took his place yet again. He was now indifferent to the matter. "From the beginning of the aria then please, mam'selle."

Meg gave her a slight push and Christine took center stage. She looked so frightened. She gazed above her as if waiting for an encouraging sign from heaven before she began the aria:

"_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye._

_Remember me once in a while – please promise me you'll try."_

As she continued her song, Meg saw the stage fright dissolve from Christine's face as she became one with the music. Much like her dancing, Christine's world always relied on song, even before she was brought to the opera house. But it was here that her voice matured. However, the opportunities to show her skill were minimal.

Meg looked from Christine to the faces of the managers. Awe replaced their earlier fears as they listened intently to the young diva. The surrounding stagehands and dancers also seemed hypnotized. Never could they have imagined that such a beautiful sound could come from such a small earthly being.

When Christine had finished her piece, there was a moment of stunned silence. Christine looked to her friend with a look of distress, but Meg only smiled and applauded. Everyone else soon followed. Christine breathed a sigh of relief.

"My God, child, you have the loveliest voice!" Firmin exclaimed.

"This tutor of yours must be one of a kind! A genius!" Andre added.

Meg arched her brow, but said not a word. She looked to her mother, but she was smiling affectionately at her adopted daughter.

"It's settled then! Miss Daae, would you do us the honor of taking the lead in tonight's opera?" Firmin asked.

"It would be my pleasure, monsieur. Thank you." Christine replied with quiet humbleness.

"Wonderful! Well then Richard, we must away! There is a rehearsal to practice!" Andre ushered Firmin off the stage.

"Of course, of course. Good luck to you all!" Firmin said.

As the managers left, everyone looked at one another questionably. Where were they to start? Meg knew her mother was never one to delay and immediately she began to give orders.

"Well don't just stand there! From the beginning, if you please Monsieur Reyer! Everyone to there places!"

The company bustled about as everyone again set up for rehearsal, this time with Christine taking the lead. Meg smiled to herself. Another job well done. Of course, she knew she wouldn't be acknowledged for it, but it didn't matter. As long as Christine finally got her chance to shine and she was able to dance. Life could go on as it always did…

please review:)


	3. The Angel of Music

Rehearsals had run much smoothly with the new diva. Christine was absolutely ecstatic; she was finally living her dream! Once Madame Giry had helped Christine out of her costume, she smiled fondly at her and kissed her forehead.

"Now is your time to shine, my dear. You will do beautifully."

Her face still flushed with excitement, Christine smiled. "Thank you, Antoinette. Do you think maybe Father had something to do with this?" she asked innocently.

She noticed the smile falter a little on Madame Giry's face.

"I know that he would be very proud of you, Christine. Now, you must come and eat. You will need your strength for tonight."

"Oh," Christine replied. "I was going to rest for a bit. I'm a little fatigued…"

Christine tried to hide her lie by rubbing her eyes and giving a small yawn.

"Of course, dear. I'll have something saved for you then."

With that, Madame Giry left and Christine was alone in Carlotta's dressing room. Whenever something spectacular happened to her, which was not very often, she always believed Madame Giry knew more about her circumstances than herself. However, she was sure that she knew nothing of her Angel. When he had first come to her, Christine spoke not a word of him to anyone.

Even as she thought this, it sounded a little crazy. The Angel of Music came to her…not in a dream, not in a vision, but through voice. When her father died, and she thought all hope was lost, it was then that she heard him. His voice had been soft and comforting, and she embraced it with on open heart.

Christine remembered it as if it was yesterday…

She had just run up the stairs to the dormitories and flung her tearstained face into her pillow. Ballet practice had been absolutely dreadful. None of the girls liked her, other then Meg, and one of the older dancers, Cosette, had made her look like a complete fool.

"Why did you leave me, daddy! Why!" She was sobbing uncontrollably now. "You promised me you would send him to me! Where is the Angel of Music?"

She sat there alone for a good hour, crying, until she was completely exhausted. Just as she was about to close her eyes and drift into a dreamless sleep, she heard a voice singing softly. At first, Christine thought she had imagined it since she had so desperately wanted to hear him. But the voice grew louder and she recognized the song as an old lullaby her father had once sung to her.

She sat up with a start, looking around the room for the source. It was completely empty, and her eyes widened with both fear and joy.

When the song had finished, the deep, soothing voice asked, "_My dear child, why do you cry_?"

"Who's there? Who are you?" she whispered.

"_I am your Angel of Music_."

"My Angel? You have not forgotten me then?" She asked hopefully, wiping away a tear.

Christine got up from her place on the bed and knelt on the floor.

"_No, my dear_. _I am here now_, _do not cry_."

"Oh Angel! I have prayed for you to come to me every night! Did my father send you?"

The voice chuckled softly. "_Yes_, _child_, _and he has great expectations for you_. _He tells me that you wish to sing_…"

Christine's face lit up. "Oh yes! I want to sing in front of all Paris one day!"

"_And you shall_. _I will teach you_, _but you must understand that there will be great responsibilities_. _Will you be able to follow my instructions_?" he cautioned.

"I promise."

"_Very good_. Your _first responsibility is to let no one else know that I have come to you_. _This must be our secret_."

"I understand…Angel?" Christine asked.

"_Yes child_?"

"How come I can't see you?"

For a few moments there was complete silence, and Christine was afraid that he had gone. Did she offend him? Tears swelled again in her eyes. He had come to her, wasn't that enough? No, she had to ask for more…

"Angel?" her voice quaked.

"_In time_, _my dear_, _you shall know me_…"

Christine kept that promise in the back of her mind. Never again did she question him with ignorant questions, but complied with his strict orders. Rarely did he praise her efforts, and when he did, he did not allow her enough time to dawn on those praises. He immediately demanded more from her.

Through his guidance, Christine grew more confident in her abilities; but the days past and the only stage time she received was in the chorus. It was beginning to become her comfort zone and all the more she secretly began to doubt her moment in the spotlight.

But now was her time! Her moment had come! She couldn't wait to tell her Angel, though he probably already knew. He knew everything about her, her every waking moment…he was even there in her dreams, though she could never see his face.

Christine sat in front of the vanity and began to brush her long, brown curls. As she stared at her reflection, she began to notice that her young, childish features were diminishing. Where she was once slightly stout in some places, she had now thinned out, with more distinctive feminine curves.

Perhaps Raoul would not have recognized her, she barely recognized herself! The thought of her childhood friend brought a small smile to her lips. She had missed Raoul greatly, his very presence this morning brought memories of her father flooding back into her mind. He had changed for the better, from once a thin, wiry boy to a handsome young Vicomte. No doubt he was already engaged to a woman of wealth and nobility.

Her smile faltered. Why did it matter to her what happened to him? Her life was here now, and her love and devotion belonged to her Angel.

"_And what brings this frown to your face, my child_? _Have you not received the leading role this night_?" The musical voice of her Angel asked.

Christine looked up with delight. "Oh Angel, it's not that. I _am_ singing the lead tonight! I thought it would please you?"

"_It pleases me greatly_. _You are ready, Christine_. _Tonight, all of Paris will love you_."

She felt a blush creep into her cheeks and she looked down at the brush in her hands. "Thank you, Master."

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence until the Angel spoke again. "_What ails you, Christine_?_ You are not yourself today_…"

Sometimes it truly unnerved her that her Angel knew her deepest thoughts.

"Nothing is wrong. I'm just nervous, I guess."

"_Christine, you have always confided in me_. _Am I suddenly untrustworthy_?"

Their seemed to be a note of hurt in his voice and Christine almost winced. She felt terribly guilty.

"Well, Monsieur Lefevre announced his retirement…and with that he introduced our new managers…" she began.

"_Yes, those two fools who claim to understand the concepts of music_…"

Christine frowned for a moment, but then chuckled softly. His disliking, however, seemed a bit too human.

"They also introduced the new patron. The Vicomte de Changy is an old childhood friend, and…I was only disappointed…that he had not noticed me." She struggled to get her words out.

She spoke quietly, expecting sympathy, but his reaction had completely thrown her off guard. At first it was deathly silent and then…

"_I will not tolerate pathetic earthly distractions that you humans refer to as courtship and the like!"_

His unexpected rage had rendered her speechless. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she was actually shaking. Never, _never_ had he expressed such anger toward her. His words pierced her heart. She had been set in her place simply by him referring to her as a human.

"I…forgive me, Angel…my soul is weak…_please_ forgive me…" Christine spoke meekly; her head bowed, and tears swelling.

"_Christine, Christine_…" He had almost sung her name. "_I find that I must remind myself that you are prone to temptation_…_I shall give you another chance to prove to me your fidelity_."

Christine looked up brightly and smiled. "I swear, I swear on my life that I will no longer disappoint you!"

"_Will you Christine? I must have more than your word_…_I must have your heart_."

"You have my heart, Angel, always…"

Unbeknownst to Christine and her heavenly visitor, Meg stood outside the dressing room door listening to their conversation. She gave a weary sigh and shook her head. She had only come to speak with Christine and to see if she was all right. Meg had no intentions of eavesdropping, but when she heard the distinct voice of a man, she need not guess who Christine spoke with.

From the sounds of their discussions, Meg feared that this time Christine had sold her soul to the devil. She quietly crept away from the door and headed for the dormitories…


	4. Brief Confrontations

During the last performance of _Hannibal_, Meg watched as Christine's face glowed with pride and confidence. She was so happy for her. Christine had deserved this moment her entire life; but, in honesty, she wouldn't be where she was had it not been for her 'great tutor', as her mother put it. In a way, Meg felt guilty for keeping such an extraordinary secret from a friend whom she saw as a sister.

But she had a duty, a promise, to keep. _No one_ was to know the true identity of the man known as the Opera Ghost. She not only owed it to him, but also to her mother. Should any details of this man's life leak through the opera house, her mother's life would be at stake. She had, after all, helped a murderer to escape. She would not only be seen as an accomplice, but she helped to keep him alive.

Meg pushed that thought into the back of her mind and focused her attention back to her friend. Christine stole a quick glance at her, and Meg smiled encouragingly. Madame Giry placed a loving hand on her daughter's shoulder and gently brushed her hair with her fingers before turning to leave. Meg looked behind for a moment, almost stopping her. Where was she going? But she wouldn't leave until Christine had finished. She would be heartbroken if she didn't see Meg there afterward.

"_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade._

_They have their seasons. So do we._

_But please promise me that sometimes_

_You will think…of me!"_

The crowds erupted with feverish applause and cheers. Christine took her bow and smiled again at Meg. Meg returned her smile and then turned to find her mother.

She raced through the dancer's lounge and stopped dead in her tracks when she heard hushed voices.

"Please give this to her, Antoinette. Tell her that I was pleased. She did very well."

"As you wish, Erik," replied her mother.

"And one other thing…"

"Yes?"

"That boy…"

"The Vicomte?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Vicomte. Keep watch of him."

"What do you plan to do, Erik?" Her mother sounded concerned.

The man's voice became agitated. "_If_ I had plans, you know I would not speak of such things to you."

There came a disapproving sigh. "Please, take care, Erik."

There was no response, but when Meg heard approaching steps, she hid behind a curtain and watched as her mother walked quickly past. There was only one person she would speak so secretly with, and it certainly was not a lover. Meg hated to eavesdrop on her mother's personal matters, but it was the only way to find out what went one throughout the opera house.

She let out a sigh of relief when she was sure her mother was gone, but she suddenly felt the presence of someone standing on the other side of the curtain. Tentatively, she reached with unsteady fingers for the edge of the material. As she pulled it back, she let out a gasp as the man in the white mask stood before her. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he sensed her fear.

"You were meddling in my affairs again, Little Giry," came his deep, exotic voice.

"It was an accident this time, Erik." Her voice struggled to gain back its confidence.

He smiled wryly at her. "After all these years, you still fear the Opera Ghost?"

Meg brought her eyes to the floor for a moment, but then brought it back to his penetrating gaze.

"It is not you, I fear…it is what I know you are capable of doing that frightens me."

The Phantom reached out and brushed a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. Meg closed her eyes, willing her breathing to remain calm.

"I have given my word to your mother. I would not lay a hand on you or her…I owe her my life." He whispered.

A cluttering of footsteps came from backstage as people hurried to the lounge. The Phantom took her hand and raised it to his lips.

"Until next time, Mademoiselle Giry."

And he vanished before her eyes.

Meg let out a breath that she did not know she had been holding. The bustling crowd charged into the room with open champagne bottles, bouquets of flowers, and other gifts. Madame Giry forced her way through from the direction of La Carlotta's dressing room.

"Meg!" she called as she approached.

"Yes, mama?"

"I cannot find Christine."

"Cannot find her? But, she was only just on stage!"

"I know, child. Help me look for her. If anyone knows her better than me, it's you."

"Yes mama. I shall look for her."

Meg knew that there was only one place Christine could possibly be after such an immaculate performance. Christine was a devout Catholic. There was no doubt in her mind that Christine was in the chapel…


	5. Who is this Angel?

When her performance had finished and the curtains closed, Christine managed to slip past the crowds and down into the little chapel in the very back of the opera house. She adjusted the flowing, white gown about her on the cold stone floor before she lit the little candle behind the picture of her father.

"If only you could have seen me tonight…" She whispered softly, a tear running down her powdered cheek.

She could not believe that it had actually happened. All her years of singing and waiting had finally led her to her moment of triumph. Those two hours on stage had altered her life forever. Christine wanted nothing more than to live a life of music and acting, and she owed all her gratitude to her tutor, her guide and guardian. He promised her and tonight he handed her the heart of Paris on a silver platter.

A soft, exalting voice broke the silence of the small chapel. "_Brava, Brava, Bravissima_…"

"Angel," she called quietly.

"_You have done magnificently, the angels wept this night_."

"I could not explain what I felt on stage! It was as though another being had taken over my body. I poured my very soul into those words!" Christine could feel her heart begin to race.

"_Your soul is very beautiful, Christine. No emperor received such a gift_."

A blush crept into her cheeks at his praise.

"This _is not the end, my child. You will have many a night such as this, but there is much more work to be done. Are you prepared to take the next step_?"

She took a deep breath before she answered him. "With all my heart. As long as you are there to guide me."

Meg walked quickly and quietly to the back of the opera house, passing a couple entwined in a passionate embrace. The hallway was dimly lit as well as the staircase leading down to the pathetic excuse for a place of heavenly worship. It was dark, except for the candles that lined the walls. There was a large stained glass window on the left wall and a large mural of an angel on the far wall. On either side of the shrine were two stands with three rows of candles. If one felt so inclined, they could come down to light a candle in memorial of a deceased loved one. Meg was never really a devotional to any particular religion. Her mother had never forced that upon her, though she did believe in God and miracles.

"Christine…" she called softly. "Christine?"

Meg smiled in relief when she reached the bottom of the staircase. Sure that her friend was not immersed in prayer, she entered the chapel. She glanced for a moment at the candle that had been lit near the picture of Christine's father.

"Oh Christine, where have you been hiding?" Meg exclaimed as she kneeled next to Christine. "You were wonderful! You must tell me who this new tutor is!" She hated having to be so naïve.

Christine gave Meg a tender smile, but a heavy seriousness was evident in her eyes.

"Meg, I must tell you something. You'll think it ridiculous, but it's true…"

Meg took Christine's hand in hers and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

"When your mother brought me here to live, I would come down here alone to light a candle for my father. And a voice…a voice from heaven, Meg! He came to me, and he came in my dreams."

Meg gave Christine a look of concern but did not interrupt.

"You see, when Father lay dying, he said that he would send an angel to protect me…an Angel of music."

Meg turned her head in order to hide the guilt that washed over her face. Oh how could she believe this voice to be her dead father? Poor Christine!

"Christine…do you believe? Do you really think the spirit of your father is instructing you?"

"Who else could it be, Meg?"

Christine rose from her place, seemingly distracted. Meg followed her movements.

"He's here, right now. Can you sense it? No, probably not…but he's here…"

Meg took Christine's arm and started to lead her out of the chapel.

"You must have been dreaming, Christine. You're not yourself, you need rest."

But Christine did not listen to her. She looked about her and hummed a strange tune, her facial expressions ranging from awe to fear.

"Oh Meg, he's with me even now." She whispered.

"Your hands are cold…and your face, it's white!" Meg exclaimed. '_She is probably exhausted!'_ She thought.

Christine stopped in her place and looked at her friend. "It frightens me…"

"I'm here Christine. Don't be frightened. Come, let's get you out of this costume."

Meg guided her through the crowds until they found Madame Giry standing in front of Carlotta's dressing room.

"Christine! My dear child, there you are!" Madame Giry opened the door to the room and hurried her inside. "Quickly, quickly!"

Meg stood on the first stair and watched the door close in front of her. She heaved a sigh before turning to leave. This was Christine's night, she had to remind herself. But, that didn't mean she didn't deserve some reward for _her_performance. She had practiced for hours on end, even when regular practices had been dismissed!

That was the difference between her and Christine. Everything came naturally for the curly haired brunette. The dancing, the singing…even with minimal practice, Christine could capture the audience with a mere smile. Was she jealous? Perhaps…but rightfully so. In the beginning, Meg was very awkward on her feet. She was green with envy as she watched Christine literally glide with the music.

The day her mother informed her she was to be placed in the front line with the prima ballerinas, she knew Erik had been involved, but for what reason, Meg could not determine. It was the same with her voice. When Christine sang she made the most beautiful sounds. True, her voice had been shaped by Erik…well…the Angel of Music. Meg's voice was lower, softer, and lacked the confidence that Christine portrayed. Again Erik stepped in. He said he saw the potential within her, and if she truly wanted to sing, all she need do was listen.

Meg listened and obeyed his every command. She was enchanted by his spell and awed at the way even music seemed to bend to his will. Unlike others, she was able to look past the white mask that adorned his face, and worshipped him as the musical god he was.

Yet, her homage to him was not enough. She wanted him to love her like he loved Christine…but no matter how hard she tried she could not break the obsession he had for the dark haired angel.

No matter. There were plenty of young men who would have her. What did she care what happened between Erik and Christine? In fact, there was a rather handsome man looking her way. Perhaps she would introduce herself…

"Meg!" came a familiar shout.

Meg winced and felt her face flush. Why was life so unfair?

"I will not have my girls up and about in the late hours of the night when there is practice the next morning! Do you think your performance was at it's best?"

She rolled her eyes before turning to face her. "No mama,"

"Off to bed with you!"

Meg glanced apologetically at the young man. He smiled and nodded before leaving.

And so was the life of a future prima ballerina…


	6. The Mirror

As Madame Giry closed the door behind them, Christine looked around at the rose filled room. Giant bouquets covered nearly every inch of the dressing room, all of them a brilliant shade of pink. She turned around and looked at Madame Giry who gave her a knowing look. Christine furrowed her brow slightly.

"You did very well, my dear." Madame Giry replied as she walked to the vanity and picked something up.

She then turned back to Christine and handed her a red rose with a black satin ribbon tied to its stem. The frown on her face deepened and then faded into a fearful realization.

"He is pleased with you."

Christine did not respond, but simply stared at the flower in her hands and thinking about its provider. She had not even noticed that Madame Giry had left. Subconsciously, she drifted over to the vanity and sat down in front of the mirror. The Phantom was pleased with her. Who else could it have been? Surely it was not from Raoul, or else he would have made his presence known.

What did this mean for her now? Should she be expecting the Opera Ghost to appear before her doorstep? Maybe it was just a simple gesture of congratulations from him. She was reading too far into it. The Ghost was not a man, he was a myth. Someone must have been playing a very cruel joke with her. And yet, why was there a nagging feeling in the back of her mind?

Christine was far too deep in concentration to notice the soft knock on the door or the source of the knocking walk in.

"Little Lotte, where is your scarf?" asked a friendly, familiar voice. "You can't have lost it already!"

The question had completely distracted her train of thought and when she looked up she saw the Vicomte de Changy walking over the threshold. Christine's face had brightened up at the site of him and she had discarded the rose on the dresser.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed excitedly.

He laid another bouquet of flowers on a nearby table before kneeling down in front of her and taking her hands.

"My dear Christine, how beautiful you've grown."

Christine felt her face flush crimson.

"How have you been, Raoul?"

"Wonderful now that I've finally found you!" he replied as he hugged her.

Christine tried to hide her confusion with a smile and hugged him back.

"Now that you've found me? What do you mean?"

"I had heard about your father's death and I was completely devastated. He was like a second father to me…I knew you had no other family, so I tried to convince my parents to take you in. We looked for you for years, Christine."

The sincerity in his tone nearly brought Christine to tears. He had been looking for her? That couldn't be. He was of wealthy, noble birth and she was the daughter of a poor musician.

"You need not have worried about me Raoul, I have been protected by an Angel." She assured him.

Raoul smiled at her, but Christine could tell he was not quite sure what she was speaking of.

"Do you remember when Father would tell us the story of the Angel of Music?"

"Of course, it was your favorite."

Christine's facial expressions became serious; a mysterious gleam shown in her eyes.

"Father said, before he died, that he would send the Angel of Music to me…well, he has Raoul. I have been visited by the Angel."

"Well with the way you sang tonight I would have expected no less!"

He believed her then? Of all people, she knew that he would! Only he could understand her, only he would be able to grasp the pain of the loss that she felt. Only Raoul would believe when she told him that the Angel came to her.

"And now we shall go to supper." Raoul said, rising from his place in front of her.

"I can't, Raoul…the Angel of Music would forbid it. He's very strict."

"Surely he would not object if I promise not too keep you out late!" Raoul laughed.

Christine was becoming upset and a little anxious. What if the Angel was listening to them right now? 'You foolish girl!' he would scold. 'What did I tell you about this! You've not only spoken to another of me, but now you've betrayed your loyalty?'

"I'll order my carriage. Two minutes, Little Lotte." Raoul opened the door and left before she could let out another protest.

She began to panic. Any moment now she was sure she would be struck down from the heavens and damned to spend eternity in hell. A life without music or her Angel. She waited…and waited…and waited…

Nothing happened. Christine didn't know whether she should be relieved or frightened. Perhaps the Angel hadn't heard anything. Quietly, she let out a breath she had not known she had been holding and began the task of taking off the elegant dress she was wearing. She would have Meg help her remove this blasted corset when she got back to the dormitories.

When she emerged from behind the changing curtain, tying the white satin robe around her, the candles blew out, leaving her in almost complete darkness. A light from an unknown source lingered above the huge mirror at the very back of the dressing room.

Christine felt her heart beating rapidly and a cold chill sweep through her body. She was not alone, she could feel it deep within her soul.

"Who is this insolent boy, this slave of fashion that dares to share in my triumph!"

The deep, outraged voice roared loudly in the tiny dressing room. Christine could have sworn she felt the floorboards shake beneath her. She was so overwhelmed with fright that it took a moment before she found her voice.

"Angel, please! I told him no! I knew you would be angry…"

The voice became cold and relentless. "Is this how you repay me, Christine? Is this how you betray my forgiveness?"

Christine bowed her head in shame. "I only live to please and serve you, Master. I couldn't bear living life without you to guide me…"

"Flattering child," The voice had returned to its usual pleasant and comforting tone. "There is something I wish to share with you this night."

"What is your will?"

"For you to know me, see why in shadow I hide…"

Christine raised her face to the heavens. Could this be happening? She had waited for years to lay eyes upon her Angel. A giant weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders at the knowledge of her worthiness.

"Look at your face in the mirror, Christine. Come to me my angel…"

As if in a trance, she turned to look at the mirror. A swirling mist seemed to have filled the room and slowly, savoring each step, she walked to the other end.

A shape began to take form in the full-length mirror. The first thing that had become clear to her was the gleam of a white mask that covered the right side of his face. The figure became more and more defined as she neared the glass and it seemed to open before her.

The masked man offered her a gloved hand and Christine accepted it without question, so transfixed she was by his dark, mystifying beauty. And without a glance behind her, she stepped through the mirror and into the Phantom's world...


	7. New Discoveries

She was able to lose her mother due to the younger ballet girls' need for motherly care. It was nearly midnight and past their bedtime. They would need their rest because the next morning's practice would not be kind. Now that she had some free time, she wanted to find Christine to make sure that she was all right. She had been as white as a ghost when Meg had last left her.

As she walked to Carlotta's dressing room she was suddenly stopped by a rather disheveled looking Vicomte.

"Mademoiselle! Please, I need your help." He said frantically as he approached her.

Meg looked about her for a moment but realized the hallways were deserted. "What can I do for you, monsieur?"

"It's Christine. I was supposed to take her to supper, but when she did not meet me at my carriage I came back to get her. The door is locked!" He pointed to the door handle behind him.

Meg suppressed a chuckle. "Perhaps she was only requiring some privacy…"

"I heard voices! I begged her to open the door, and then I no longer heard them! It was as if she disappeared!"

Now she could no longer hold back a laugh. "Please forgive me, monsieur, but disappear? That is highly unlikely!"

"Then explain why she has not met me at my carriage!" His worry was turning into anger. Meg had to make sure she played her cards right if she wished to keep her job.

Her face became serious again before she answered. "She was not well earlier, monsieur. She might have been too tired and went to bed."

The expression on the Vicomte's face relaxed a little, but the frown remained. "But the voices…"

Meg laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you both are tired. You should go home and rest."

She slowly guided him away from the dressing room to a back stage exit where he would meet his carriage.

"Maybe I shall…but, will you tell her that I would like to speak with her when she awakens?"

"Of course. Goodnight, monsieur."

Once the door was closed and locked, Meg made her way back to the dressing room. She rattled the handle but it was indeed locked. What was Christine hiding in there? Her mother kept a spare ring of keys, so she quickly made her way down some stairs to her mother's room.

When she entered the hallway again she realized how terribly dark it was. She hated the dark. Everything bad happened when the lights went out. Bizarre images were created in restless minds, violent and frightening images. Then again, the only thing people in this opera house feared was the ghost. She supposed he was a thing to be afraid of. He could appear in front of anyone at any given time. The white mask that adorned the right side of his face was incredibly intimidating. He even threatened to kill should anyone disobey his orders, and the way he killed would be long and torturous for his victim. Yes, the Phantom was most definitely a menacing character.

Meg fit the key into the lock and turned the handle slowly, trying to prevent any loud clanking noises. When she walked into the room it was nearly pitch black save for a dim light coming from the mirror.

"Christine?" she called softly, but no answer came. She set the keys on the vanity and glanced apprehensively behind her to make sure no one had followed. She then went over to the mirror. That was odd…it was open…

She slid the glass door wider and was welcomed to a damp, stone hallway. Meg knew from past experiences and rumors, that there were many trap doors and secret passage ways that had been built into the opera house long ago. She had the unfortunate experience of being too curious when she was younger, and wandered down one of these passage ways, only to turn back shrieking when she was welcomed by a hungry pack of rats.

She stepped into the corridor and examined the mirror through the other side. It was entirely transparent. This new knowledge unnerved her. Were all the mirrors in this opera house see through? She turned and continued down the hall silently cursing herself for still wearing her ballet slippers. Her mother would kill her if she dirtied them. Meg hunched her shoulders a bit, dodging the tangles of the spider webs.

She could feel her heart beating rapidly. Suddenly, she heard squeaking and jumped back with a gasp as she passed some scurrying rats. Should she turn back? But where did this tunnel lead? '_No doubt to him…'_

Just when she was beginning to regain her courage, a hand plopped down on her shoulder. Meg spun around, grasping her racing heart, only to be faced with her stern looking mother. Madame Giry took her hand and tried to drag her out, but her anger got the better of her, and she pulled her hand away.

"What are you hiding from me? I know he's down there! Why can't I go to him?" Meg said, staring agitatedly at her.

"You can not just 'drop by' whenever you feel like it, Meg! He has every right to his own privacy!"

"His privacy is to be respected and yet we deserve none?"

Madame Giry frowned. "What are you talking about, child?"

Meg indicated the mirror at the end of the hallway and her mother sighed.

"He is a grown man. I can't tell him how to live his life…this is none of our business. It is late, and you need your rest."

This time she offered her hand to her daughter and Meg took it without protest. She loved her mother dearly, it just seemed that sometimes she forgot she had only _one_ blood daughter.

When they reached the ballet dormitories, they could hear the drunken voice of Joseph Buquet.

"Will that bastard ever learn to keep out of here?" Madame Giry whispered.

"His skin is like yellow parchment; his nose is no more than a black hole on his wretched face." He rambled in his scariest voice.

The ballet girls, dressed in their night shifts, had gathered around him, their faces aghast with fear and loathing. Two older dancers, who had clearly come back from a late night, dared to walk past him as he pulled out his makeshift lasso.

"Those who are not on their guard will be caught with his magical lasso." He laughed evilly, roping one of the girls and pulling her to him, attempting to kiss her.

Meg took the opportunity to pass and stood in front of her bed, although she became hesitant to undress when Buquet made a glance her way. Madame Giry immediately put an end to the matter. She pulled the girl from his grasp and ushered off, taking the rope from her waist.

"Those who speak of what they know," she warned all the attentive girls, "find too late that prudent silence is wise." Buquet held his head high, doing his best not to fear the woman who stood before him.

"Joseph Buquet, you would do well to hold that filthy tongue of yours."

"What will you do about it, woman?" he teased. To his surprise, his cheek was met with a harsh slap before she threw the rope around his neck.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes." She pushed the end of the rope close enough to almost cut off his breathing when he placed his hand up to stop her. The ballet girls became dead silent. "Now get out."

Buquet removed the rope from his neck, his eyes focusing elsewhere. "Goodnight ladies." He said turning to the girls and giving a dramatic bow, and turned to leave.

Now that he was gone, Meg began to undress out of the constricting dance costume.

"To bed, all of you! You were a disgrace tonight! In the morning you will practice as you have never practiced before!" Madame Giry exclaimed before she went to dim the gaslights.

The girls groaned silently and positioned themselves under their covers for a short, uneasy night's rest…

please review! thanks:)


	8. The Morning After

It was not yet dawn and she had gotten about five hours of sleep. Meg stirred from her dreamless slumber and stretched her weary muscles. As she sat up she looked about the dark room to see everyone still asleep. Her blurry gaze settled on the empty bed next to hers. It was Christine's, completely untouched and unused. Could she not sleep as well? Did she have another nightmare? Did she even come to bed last night?

That matter could not concern her now. She would have to find her later. Meg forced herself from the bed and quickly changed into her practice costume and snatched her slippers. Grabbing a ribbon to tie up her hair, she silently she crept out of the dormitory and down the stairs.

Once a week for the past ten years, Meg received singing lessons from the man known to Christine as the Angel of Music. She would wake before dawn and meet him on the empty stage where he would then take her down to his lair. He took the main passage down to the cellars, the one that everyone knew about but rarely used, where they then came to the lake. A boat would be waiting and he would pole them all the way to his private quarters.

The aura of the place never ceased to amaze her. She loved the decorations and furniture, though most of them were just stolen stage pieces. The whole setting was romantic, in a gothic sort of way, with the numerous candles and velvet drapes. However, it was the large pipe organ that brought everything together. It reminded her of an underground palace, entirely devoted to everything music.

"This is where you live?" she asked astonished when she had first gone there.

He must have been amused by her childish awe and curiosity because he chuckled softly and answered, "Yes, this is my kingdom. And those who come here must pay homage to music."

"But I'm afraid." Meg said quietly, her head bowed as she stared at the ties of her slippers. "I don't know how to sing, monsieur…"

He got down on one knee in front of her and took her small hands in his. She looked up at him, the mask on his face almost completely oblivious to her. All she could see was a truly gifted man.

"You will call me Erik, and you need not fear. I will teach you how to sing, if that is what you truly desire." His deep voice was soft and assuring.

Meg smiled to herself as she recalled that day so many years ago. Her voice, though lower and softer than Christine's, had matured greatly. She met Erik religiously every week, and practiced on her own every day, but she made sure she was alone and no else one could hear her. She did not know if her mother knew, and if she did, she had not made a point of mentioning it. However, as far as Madame Giry was concerned, her daughter's future lay in dance. Meg had no objections. She loved to dance as much as she loved to sing. It was in her blood.

While she waited for Erik to come for her, Meg began her dance stretches. There was no point in wasting any time to better herself. But as minutes ticked away and there was no sign of her tutor, she began to worry. He was _never_ late. Or maybe it was she who was late and he grew tired of waiting for her. No, that never happened. She was always careful about being there on time.

There was a bustling sound somewhere off stage and Meg walked cautiously over to it.

"Erik?" she whispered.

Her only response was a soft sob.

"We have an agreement then?"

Meg immediately recognized the voice and stepped behind the curtain.

"Yes…" came the distinct whimper of Christine.

"Very well…I will come for you." The deep masculine voice responded.

There was an eerie silence and then the sobbing began again. Deep down, Meg felt her heart twist in pain. She felt somewhat betrayed. So that was where Christine had been all night. With Erik…

Meg pushed aside her feelings for a moment and went to help her friend.

"Christine?" she called softly.

Christine gasped. When she came into view out of the bleak darkness, Meg could see that she was kneeling on the floor, hunched over and holding herself. He cheeks were tear stained, and her hair a mass of disoriented curls. Her lips were almost as white as her pale skin.

Meg dropped to her knees and pulled Christine into her embrace. "What happened, Christine? What's wrong?" she asked in her most sympathetic tone.

For a little while, Christine just cried into her friend's shoulder. Meg gently stroked her hair, waiting for her to calm down.

"It's all right, Christine. It's over now."

Christine pulled away from the embrace. The look she gave in response to her friend's comment was so unbelievably miserable, that Meg felt she had to fight back tears of her own.

"What happened?" she repeated.

"I…it was nothing…" Christine shook her head and looked away. "Just another nightmare. I couldn't sleep."

Meg frowned inwardly. She knew she was lying, but what had transpired between her and Erik? What could have made her so upset?

"You look worse than before, Christine." Meg said as she brushed aside some curls from Christine's face.

"Dear God! What happened, child?"

Both girls looked up to see Madame Giry, her face etched with worry.

"She was sleepwalking again, mama."

"You poor girl." Madame Giry walked over and helped Christine to her feet. She struggled for a moment, as if she hadn't used her legs for some time. Meg allowed her to place her other arm on her shoulder.

"We must get you to bed. You are over exhausted, my dear. Last night must have truly taken a toll on you." Madame Giry said gently as she and Meg guided Christine to Carlotta's dressing room.

Christine was only dimly aware of where she was being led, but when they reached the stairs she stood firmly in her place, her eyes wide with fear.

"No, please. I don't want to stay in here. Let me sleep in the dormitories…"

Madame Giry frowned. "You will be allowed more privacy in here. Are you certain?"

"Yes, I'm quite certain. Please, take me away from here." She pleaded weakly.

They then made their way up the stairs. By this time, the opera house was awakening and people were bustling to and fro. As some of the younger dancers made their way downstairs they worriedly rushed to Christine, asking where she had been and if she was all right.

"Let her alone, she is not well." Meg insisted as the pushed their way past.

Indeed she was not. It seemed forever to reach the top of the stairs. Christine's every movement was slow and ungraceful. A cold perspiration was beginning to cover her body, but she felt terribly hot. The circles under her eyes made her look as though she had not slept in weeks.

When they did reach the dormitories, Madame Giry ordered everyone out and she and Meg helped Christine to undress. Meg took the discarded corset and robe and placed it with the other laundry waiting to be done while her mother placed a night shift over her friend.

"There now, lay back and close your eyes. I'll have a hot bath for you when you awaken. You shan't be disturbed, child." Madame Giry said as she sat at the edge of the mattress and lovingly caressed Christine's forehead and cheek.

Meg watched with the utmost concern. Christine's 'nightmares' had never been as severe as this. What she really wanted to do was sit and make Christine tell her what happened, but an interrogation at the moment was out of the question. Her midnight adventure had taken a severe toll on her.

When she was sure she was asleep, Madame Giry left the bed and walked out of the room with her daughter. It was then that Meg realized a white envelope with black bordering and a red seal was tucked within her mother's garbs.

"We'll bring some damp rags for her in a moment." Madame Giry said as she quietly closed the door.

"Where did you get this, mama?" Meg motioned to the note.

Her mother looked down at the envelope and then back at Meg. "It was on my dresser this morning. It is addressed to Messieurs Firmin and Andre."

"It is from Erik…"

Madame Giry held up her hand to silence her.

"You do not speak that name outside of my room. You know how dangerous that could be."

"I'm sorry…but she was with him last night, wasn't she…" It was not a question but a truth that she did not want to believe.

This conversation could not be continued in an open hallway, Meg knew. Madame Giry took her by the arm and hurried her to her room. They would be late for practice. With the door safely locked, her mother turned to look at her.

"What do you know, Meg?" her tone was full of warning.

"I know nothing of what happened last night," Meg answered honestly. "All I do know is that Monsieur le Vicomte was looking for her and came pleading to me for help because he heard voices in her dressing room."

Madame Giry looked down at the floor for a moment. "Then that explains why he has taken the opportunity to reveal himself to her."

"He is afraid that she will fall in love with the Vicomte?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Meg closed her eyes. Would it really be _that_ bad if Christine fell in love with the new patron? They had already shared a history together.

"What could have made her so upset, mama?" Meg asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Isn't it obvious? The angel Christine believed to have existed is the very ghost who haunts this opera house. She believed her father was watching over her for years, but she has been terribly deceived."

Meg could not imagine the betrayal Christine must have felt. She too had lost a father, but she was not as privileged as Christine to have known him.

"Why couldn't this have ended sooner?"

A brief flash of anger passed over her mother. "And what did you expect me to do? As much as I would like to believe it, Erik has not always been a man of his word. If I did anything to interfere with his relationship with Christine, he would have harmed me or you."

"Well now he has mentally harmed Christine! Can you imagine the suffering she is experiencing? You were supposed to be a mother to her!" Meg cried, her anger easily matching her mother's.

"Enough!" Madame Giry exclaimed, her burning gaze challenging her daughter to speak another word. Meg exhaled heavily, her brow furrowed. She didn't like it when she and her mother argued, but their differences of opinions could not be helped. Her mother often said that she had her father's temper.

"You know very well that I love Christine as if she were my own. But could you not see that I was also looking out for _your_ well being? I knew how much your lessons meant to you!"

Meg tried to hold back her expression of astonishment. So she knew after all…

"I pleaded with him to stop, but he would become so violently angry with me that I was afraid he would refuse to see you any longer. But as much as I was afraid he would hurt Christine, I could also tell that he felt a deep spiritual connection with her. For once in his life, he was beginning to experience happiness…how could I take that away from him?"

What her mother said was true. Ever since Christine had come, the notes that were left for the managers had been less threatening, but no less demanding. Things seemed somewhat peaceful, almost a silent mutual agreement between two worlds.

"And since the day her father died, I had not seen Christine so overjoyed. As long as she believed her father was with her, she was content."

"Yet it was only a matter of time before he realized that she was a grown woman and not a child yearning for fatherly protection." Meg added, her voice calmer, but still filled with concern.

Madame Giry sighed. "You are right. She has become a woman, and as an adult she will handle this situation as she thinks best. We can not approach Erik about this, it will only fuel his rage."

"So we just watch the already flaming fire?"

"No. Perhaps if we deem it necessary, we will interfere. But for now, I do not think he will harm her…Monsieur le Vicomte, however, is another matter."

What horrible outcome would befall the Vicomte if he experienced the Phantom's wrath? Meg did not want to find out. He and Christine were friends, and she knew Christine would never forgive herself if anything happened to him.

"I must tend to Christine. Hurry over to practice, lead the rehearsals until I get back." Madame Giry instructed.

"But, what of Cosette? She'll be furious!" Meg stared wide-eyed at her mother. Having Cosette's screaming protests was the last thing she needed now.

"Cosette is not the ballet instructor. If she has any objections you will tell her that you are under my strict orders. Now go." Madame Giry opened the door for her.

Meg sighed and walked out. As she walked to the practice room, Meg tried to replay in her mind what might happened between Erik and Christine. The only reason Christine could have come back so upset was if she saw his face. Those who had never looked upon the face of the Opera Ghost were always greeted with a gruesome surprise when experiencing their first time. Although, it was rare for anyone to actually _see_ his face. Now there were only stories, such as the ridiculous ones that Joseph Buquet told, filling the minds of young chorus girls with nonsense.

She could remember the first time that she had seen him. It was many years ago, before Christine had been brought to the Opera Populaire. Meg had spent an extra two hours alone in the ballet room, practicing for the new opera production. By the time she had finished, dinner had been over and everyone was settling in for the night. The gas lights had been extinguished, her single candle her only means of light.

Meg crept quietly down the halls, her steps slow and aching due to the newly developed blisters on her feet. As she went to turn down the hall that would take her to the dormitories, she heard soft footfalls behind her. She froze in her place, cautiously turning to look over her shoulder. She could not suppress a gasp of fear when she was face to face with the Opera Ghost himself. His mask was stark white against the blackness of the surrounding hallway, her candle casting eerie shadows upon it.

"It is much too late for you to be up, Little Giry." His voice was so soft, Meg almost didn't hear him.

"I…I…I needed to practice…" she stammered nervously.

"You have been improving. You move naturally with the music."

Meg looked away for a moment, a blush creeping into her cheeks. "Thank you, monsieur."

"Off to bed with you. You have a long day ahead tomorrow."

She was hypnotized even with the slightest whisper. Meg turned to walk up the stairs, but she had the sudden urge to ask him how he knew who she was. But when she turned back around, he was nowhere in sight.

She had been fortunate that night. She was not threatened in anyway, only taken by surprise. Now that she thought about it, she had never looked upon his unmasked face. At the time, she had not thought it important as it had nothing to do with her singing lessons. Meg knew, from what her mother had told her, that he was horribly disfigured. But the mask only provoked fantastical ideas within her, not ones of fear and loathing.

'_Everyone has scars to hide_,' she thought to herself. '_Whether they are outside or inside us_…'


	9. In Dreams

A/N: This chapter has some mild sexual encounters...

ToyMonkey-ching: Thank you so much for reviewing! And I'm sorry if it's a bit confusing at times with who's perspective I'm using. This story is only going to be changing from Meg's POV to Christine's POV, and I was hoping I was making it obvious without titling it at the beginning of each chapter. And yes, I am paraphrazing the movie/play/book at times but I'm also trying to put in some of my own ideas so its not too horribly boring :) . Thanks again and I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

She was surrounded by almost complete darkness, save for a solitary candle which gave little illumination. In fact, the room was so dark that it looked as though the candle was floating in mid-air. Mesmerized by the flickering flame, Christine walked over to it and stopped in front of the little table it was placed on. Now, she could make out the shadowy form of a single red rose tied with a black satin ribbon next to it. Reaching for it, she caressed the soft petals with the tips of her fingers before stroking it gently against her cheek and lips. As she closed her eyes, Christine imagined another kissing her.

"_Christine_…" a deep voice whispered tenderly.

She felt a warmth surge through her body and the sound of her name. She knew this voice. It was soothing, sensual, and hypnotic. It was there in her waking and there in her dreams.

"Angel?" Christine asked quietly.

"_Come to me, Christine_..."

She placed the rose delicately back on the table and looked about her.

"I don't know where you are." She replied.

There was an aching in her heart. She wanted to be close to him, to feel him.

"_I am here_..."

Christine turned around and a dark figure emerged from the blackness into the candlelight. He was tall and broad in stature. His dark hair was slicked back and his eyes shown like blazing green fires in the light. Had it not been for the white leather mask on the right side of his face, she would have considered him as any other man. But she knew him…her angel was the Phantom.

A gloved hand was extended to her and she took it, her gaze never leaving his. He brought her into his arms and turned her around, facing her away from him. Christine sighed as he pressed her against him, his breath warm against her skin, causing the hairs to rise on the back of her neck.

"I have waited so long for you, Christine." He breathed.

With one hand pressing gently on her stomach, he moved the other up the length of her body cupping her clothed breast, massaging it gently. She exhaled a soft moan and entwined her fingers with his other hand, moving it upward to do the same. Tilting her head to the side a bit, he placed hot kisses along the length of her neck before gently nipping her ear.

Christine placed an encouraging hand against the side of his head, running her fingers through what she found as a perfectly, thick head of dark hair. She moaned again as one of his hands began a more insistent journey further down her body. He lovingly caressed her hip before partially lifting the flimsy white chemise that covered her body. She heard a satisfactory moan escape his lips when he made contact with her bare thigh.

"Oh, Christine…"

Despite the little clothing she wore, she was becoming extremely overheated when she felt his hardened manhood pushing into her backside. She turned in his arms and pushed the heavy dress coat from his shoulders and began the task of undoing his shirt. Christine felt her heart racing beneath her breast. She was being guided by pure instinct for she had never done such things with a man before. When she had successfully unbuttoned his shirt she ran her hands along his hard muscled form, watching as his eyes closed in pleasure.

"Kiss me," she pleaded, bringing her hand up to cup his unmasked cheek.

His eyes flew open at her request and Christine could see the fear and uncertainty written in them. His hands pressed her hips further into his and he leaned down to brush her lips lightly with his. She felt the cool leather of his mask against her upper lip and she frowned.

Pulling back for a moment, she looked into his eyes and said, "Without this."

She moved her hands to his masked cheek.

"Christine, don't…" he whispered nervously.

But before he could stop her, she pulled the mask from his face…

Christine awoke with a start, her heart thudding franticly in her chest. She looked about her and let out a content sigh when she realized she was in the ballet dormitories. She knew that the unmasking event would forever play in her mind, no matter how hard she prayed to forget.

But was it really him she was afraid of? For a large portion of her life, he had been her protector. Angel or not, he helped her progress in her talent and took pride in her glory. Yes, his disfigurement was a curious and a bit of a strange site, but that was not what had frightened her. His unbelievably violent rage that proceeded the unmasking had alarmed her so terribly that she thought he might physically harm her.

She had cowered on the floor, tears pouring from her eyes, and prayed silently for mercy. She had not meant to upset him so; she only wanted to see him. After he had screamed and raged at her, a calm, silent anger seemed to envelope him. Christine couldn't determine if he would be more harmful to her this way or before. She didn't dare disobey him when he said it was time to leave. When he told her that they must continue her lessons if she expected greatness, she agreed only because out fear of what he would do if she refused.

This was a dangerous man and she did not doubt that he would stop at nothing in order to get what he desired.

Christine felt tears well up in her eyes again. There was no Angel of Music. Her father had broken his promise, and now she truly was alone. She sobbed harder at the aching in her heart.

There was a creaking sound as someone opened the door to the dormitories, and she looked up to see Madame Giry walk in, carrying some towels and a bathrobe.

"My dear child, what's wrong?" she asked, haphazardly laying the clothing on a nearby bed and making her way to Christine.

Before she could sit down on the bed, Christine had flung her arms around her and cried, "I don't want to be alone anymore! There is no Angel of Music!"

Christine felt herself being enveloped in Madame Giry's tender embrace. She calmly stroked her hair and murmured words of comfort. This was the only motherly figure Christine had ever known. Had it not been for her, Christine could only imagine the horrors she would have endured living in an orphanage or on the street.

She was also grateful that Madame Giry had not questioned her about her dreams or the night before. Retelling them at the moment was just too painful.

"Come, my dear. I have a bath ready for you, and then I will bring you something to eat."

Christine silently obeyed her adopted mother and climbed out from the covers. She needed to occupy herself. She just wanted to forget…

please review:)


	10. Notes

A/N: Sorry for the extremely long delay. I just haven't been inspired to write for this story as I'm currently writing another...I have a terrible habit of starting in the middle and working my way out...oh well. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and please leave me a review!

To THE PHANTOMISS OF THEM ALL: thank you for your review...I'm not a quiter, don't worry! However, discouraged would probably be the correct word. Anway, I appreciate the encouragement!

When she reached the ballet room, Meg could hear the demanding cries of the prima ballerina, Cosette.

"No you fool! Ugh! You girls are hopeless!"

Meg frowned. She knew it would be too late to direct everyone to her orders. Cosette was unbelievably stubborn and would not give up her place without a fight.

"What's going on here?" Meg asked when she entered the room.

Everyone turned to look at her. The younger girls had the most pathetic pleading looks of help.

"Well, well, well, how wonderful of you to join us. You do understand that you _and_ your mother are late. Since neither of you cared to don us with your presence, I took it upon myself to begin practice." Cosette brushed back a loose black curl from her ivory face. Her icy blue eyes stared intently back at Meg, challenging her to remove her authority as prima ballerina.

"What kind of practice would that be, Cosette? Everyone should watch you prance around like a half wit?" Meg raised a brow, her hands on her hips. The girls gasped from her comment, their eyes wide with fear.

Cosette glared evilly at her. "_How dare you!_ Do you _honestly_ believe you're any better than this pitiful lot?" She indicated the girls with a wave of her hand. "If I had not bothered to enter the corps at this God-forsaken opera house, the ballet would be absolutely atrocious!" She was walking ever so slowly to her, stalking her as a lioness stalked her prey.

Meg smirked at her accusations. This girl did not frighten her in the least.

"Is that what you think, you selfish brat?" Meg spat. "Tell them the truth, Cosette. Had you not come to the opera house, your father would have disowned you. He hated that his only daughter would sink so low as to become a dancer. To him, you were no better than a whore on the street."

Meg was not prepared for the violent blow as Cosette's hand made contact with her cheek. The stinging sensation was so overwhelming that tears threatened to spill from her eyes. It took all of her pride to look back up at her abuser. As her watery brown eyes made contact with cold blue ones, Meg could see the tears streaming down Cosette's face.

"You bitch…" Cosette whispered hoarsely. "How dare you speak of what you know nothing about…?"

Meg fought desperately to hold back a satisfied grin. She hated Cosette more than anything, and now she had finally broken her defenses. For a few moments, they kept eye contact with a deafening silence. Meg knew that everyone around them was waiting for her to make her move, but she held still.

"What is the meaning of this?" Madame Giry broke their trance, but their gaze never faltered.

"Nothing, mama. Just a little disagreement…"

"Why aren't you practicing? Did I not instruct you to do so?"

"Oh we were, Madame!" One of the girls cried.

"And yet here you all are, standing around doing nothing. Break this up at once!" Madame Giry ordered as she came to stand between the two dancers.

"I'm afraid I'm not well, Madame. I must rest in my dressing room." Cosette said quietly.

"Leave if you must," She replied with an agitated sigh. She turned to the other girls. "And anyone else who is not prepared to work will leave immediately! I do not have time for your silly arguments!"

Cosette rushed out of the room, her pride beaten mercilessly into the ground. The rest of the girls took their places at the bars and began their stretches. Meg followed, standing towards the back of the room. As she stared at her reflection in the vast mirrored covered wall, she thought about Erik.

Why couldn't he love her? Was she not pretty enough? She was taller than most girls, her and Christine sharing a similar height. In contrast to Christine's dark russet curls, she had long golden hair with very loose curls. She was thin, a dancer's build, but not as tiny as Christine. She had a larger chest than the young brunette and a bit more curves to the hips.

Maybe it was her voice. She would never be good enough for him because Christine had the voice of an angel. Where had she gone wrong? She tried so hard to please him!

'_Oh just stop it! You're only thinking of yourself at a time like this? Christine is ill! She could use a friend right now…'_ Meg scolded herself.

"Your feet, Meg! Turn them out!" Her mother shouted, bringing her back from her thoughts.

After practice, she would go and check on Christine. She was extremely worried about her, but she wouldn't deny the itching curiosity of wanting to know what had transposed the night before. She would not be abrupt, but maybe lead Christine into telling her. She would have to be sure she didn't push her too far either. Christine was incredibly distressed and what she needed was compassion, a shoulder to cry on.

By the time rehearsal was finished it was noon. The younger girls eagerly exited the room in anticipation of a hot lunch. Meg, on the other hand, stayed behind, wanting to put an extra hour of practice in.

"You will overwork yourself, my dear," her mother said.

"Sacrifices must be made if I want to be the best. I'll be fine."

"No, don't be a fool Meg. You could do serious damage to yourself if you keep this up."

Meg turned at looked at her mother. When rehearsal began, her mother treated her no different than any of the other girls…which, in all honesty, was to be expected. Had her mother given her special privileges of any sort, she could only imagine the horrors of being a dancing version of Carlotta.

Madame Giry walked up to her daughter and embraced her. Meg returned the hug and rested her cheek on her mother's shoulder.

"If you could only know how proud I am of you, my darling."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Tender moments between mother and daughter were not a rarity, but they also did not happen on a daily basis.

"Thank you, Mama…"

"Now, you've had enough for one day. Besides, you are becoming much too thin. You must eat!"

Meg did feel a bit dizzy. With a nod of her head she began to follow her mother out of the practice room and down the halls to the kitchen. When they began to walk past the stage, they heard the distinct outraged cry of the former prima donna.

"Are you calling me a liar, signor!"

"What business would I have sending _you_ a letter!" The Vicomte shouted back.

Meg and her mother exchanged knowing glances and hurriedly made their way to the grand entrance hall.

"I'm finished with this damned opera house! You would have a good for nothing chorus girl replace me!"

"Signora, really. All we've heard since we're arrived is Miss Daae's name…" Andre said, sounding rather tired and annoyed.

By that time, Madame Giry and Meg appeared at the end of the staircase.

"Miss Daae has returned, Messieurs."

"Wonderful!" Firmin exclaimed. "Then I believe that adjourns our meeting!"

"Richard, please." Andre scolded. "Where is she now, Madame?"

"I thought it best she was alone. She was not well." Madame Giry replied.

"She needed rest," Meg added.

Raoul took a few steps closer to them. Worry was clearly written over his face, his brow furrowed. Meg glanced at the letter that he held in his hand and caught a glimpse of the signature…O.G. '_Of course, who else could possibly be behind this?'_ She thought.

"May I see her?" he asked pleadingly.

Meg felt a surge of sympathy for him, but looked away when her mother responded, "I am sorry, Monsieur le Vicomte, but she does not wish for any visitors."

"What does _that_ matter! Will that wretched girl be singing!" Carlotta cried.

Turning her gaze back up to the staircase, Meg glared at the arrogant diva. The woman was truly a heartless bitch…

"I was told to give this to you, messieurs," Madame Giry said, indicating the managers, and taking the note from the pocket in her dress.

Carlotta made a grab for it, but Firmin easily swiped the letter before she could touch it. Breaking the red skull seal and removing the note from the envelope, he read the letter's contents aloud. Raoul, Carlotta, and the managers were clearly perplexed and outraged by the 'Ghost's' demands.

As Firmin finished with "a disaster beyond your imagination will occur…" Meg visibly shuddered. She did not doubt for a moment that Erik would hold true to his word. However, it appeared the managers' faith in this threat was minimal. They were more concerned with the loss of business if Carlotta chose to abandon the Opera Populaire.

"Poor Christine," Meg whispered.

"The Vicomte sent this! It's all a ploy to help Christine!" Carlotta shouted, pushing her way past the managers, Piangi following close behind, as well as her servants.

"That is absurd! I did nothing of the sort!" Raoul countered angrily.

"Oh, this is insane…" Firmin muttered. "Signora, this changes nothing!"

"A chorus girl! A pathetic, little brat has replaced me!" Carlotta burst into tears as she raced to her dressing room and began tearing down her paintings.

"It is all right, Cara…these fools don't deserve you!" Piangi shouted angrily as he glared at the managers.

As the angry shouts continued from the dressing room, a crowd began to form around the outside. Meg had never seen so many happy faces in her life. This entertainment was almost as exciting as a successful production. She could also sense the rising anger in her mother. Madame Giry's job was to keep order in the opera house, and, in turn, keep the Phantom's outrages at bay. How could she do that when the managers wouldn't even listen to her?

There was a tap on Meg's shoulder and her and her mother turned to see the Vicomte standing behind them.

"Madame Giry, Mademoiselle, I must speak with you both," he pleaded.

Meg gave her mother a sympathetic look. Surely she wouldn't turn him away?

Madame Giry sighed and led her and the Vicomte to a quieter, more deserted place. "What can I do for you, Monsieur?"

"I am no fool, Madame. Messieurs Firmin and Andre may be to not heed your warnings, but I know you wouldn't discourage their decisions for no reason. Please, I'm listening…tell me what you know."

For a moment, it felt as though her heart had broken. Meg could see the love he had for Christine in his eyes. He only wanted to protect her. It was almost enough to make her want to tell him everything she knew…

"I can only tell you what I've been trying to tell them," her mother said, indicating to the managers with a wave of her hand. "If you do not wish for an outbreak at this opera house, you would follow the Ghost's demands. It is as simple as that."

"Surely there is more to it then that! I fear for Christine's life! She spoke to me of the Angel of Music…"

Meg couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her lips. Raoul looked over at her with curiosity. Immediately her eyes were downcast, pretending as though nothing he said had mattered.

"Monsieur, you must believe me when I tell you I know nothing more than you presume. I only know that when the Ghost is kept happy, no disturbances arise. When he is angry he makes it quite clear that he is displeased. It has been this way for years."

Raoul was about to protest when she continued. "Rest assured. Christine is being well taken care of. No harm shall come to her, I promise."

In a flurry of pinks and reds, Carlotta raced back out of her dressing room screaming at the top of her lungs, the managers chasing after her.

"Now if you will please excuse me, Monsieur," Madame Giry nodded and turned to leave, Meg following close behind.

She looked over her shoulder and saw that he had turned and walked towards the chapel. Poor Raoul…he only wanted to help. But she knew that he wasn't about to give up that easily either.

The party followed Carlotta all the way to the entrance of the opera house until she finally reached the doors. As she flung them open, she was greeted with a whirlwind of excited auditors, clapping and shouting…for Christine. Roses and other flattering gifts were being pushed forth by men, begging to get a glimpse of the young star.

Carlotta smiled sadly and stepped back as the managers closed the doors. She stood there, staring blankly in complete disbelief. Piangi was clearly as dumbfounded as she, for he said nothing.

Andre stepped closer to her and said sympathetically, "You're public needs you."

"We need you, too," Firmin added.

It seemed to Meg that Carlotta would refuse. Her face quickly changed from dejection to irritation.

"Would you not rather have your precious little ingénue?"

Meg looked to her mother. She closed her eyes and lightly shook her head.

"The world wants you, Signora. How could we deny them?" Firmin replied.

That satisfied Carlotta enough. She turned and smiled gaily. "Very well, you will have your star. How can I desert you now?"

A visible sigh of relief escaped the managers.

"Piangi," Carlotta called.

"Si, Cara?"

"See to it that my dressing room is put back together."

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her servants and they rushed the belongings back to her room.

"Wonderful!" Andre exclaimed. "Now, Signora, if you would just come with us…we will organize the paper work."

Firmin and Andre happily escorted Carlotta and Piangi to their office. Meg could hear her mother mumbling under her breath.

"Arrogant fools."

"Mama, do you think he will really do something terrible?" Meg whispered.

"I do not know, my dear. He does not make threats without the intention of keeping them. However, as to the level of seriousness, I cannot say. We can only pray it is not too terrible."

That wasn't very comforting. As she watched her mother walk away, she contemplated on what she should do. She had originally planned to check on Christine, but for all she knew, she could be sleeping. And she couldn't just let the managers get away with this! Were they that stupid to possibly risk the lives of everyone in this opera house!

Meg finally decided that she had two options: She could either inform Erik now, or ignore it and…possibly risk him being terribly angry at her for not telling him. So that was that. She would just have to march down five stories beneath the opera house and let him know. And, just maybe, she could get him to set the managers right without violence. This whole thing could be fixed before rehearsals started!

She beamed at her ingenious idea. She could save this production, and she would do it right now…


	11. Think Of Me

To PHANTOMISS OF THEM ALL: thank you again for your review! ;-)

It felt strange creeping into Carlotta's dressing room, but she wanted to see the passage way through the mirror. She had always taken the main route when going down to the cellars, but this way seemed more dangerous, more exciting. But, oh! He would be so mad with her when she showed up unexpectedly! He absolutely despised surprise visitors. That was precisely why the voyage down to his living quarters was armed with death traps.

'_Oh no…'_she thought, suddenly alarmed. She hadn't even thought of the traps he may have set along the way. Despite the fact that Christine would have gone down this very corridor, he could have easily avoided his own "safety mechanisms".

It was a risk she thought was necessary to take. She _wanted_ to go to him, and right now, there was no one to prevent her. She made sure this time that her mother was busy and could not distract her. When she entered the mirror and quietly closed it behind her, she removed her ballet slippers and left them in one of the corners.

She gasped when her stocking clad feet hit the cold floor. Damn, she should have changed or at least have brought another pair of shoes. And, surprisingly enough, it was dark. When was she going to learn? Oh well, this would make her journey a little less noticeable…she hoped.

With her hand against the wall, Meg used it as a guide. There were several turns until she finally reached a staircase. Here, torches were lit and she could discern her surroundings better. She couldn't help the thrill that rushed down her spine. As much as this little adventure was a gamble, it was oddly romantic. She was secretly sneaking down to an underground palace where she would soon encounter a strange, but beautiful creature.

'_A beautiful creature who has no interest in you other than to be your tutor…'_she mentally corrected herself. The thought dampened her spirits. If she could be the center of his attention for but a day, she would be content. But alas, she knew that would never be. When Erik had his heart set on something, he would pursue it no matter what the cost.

When she reached the end of the winding staircases she froze. The lake…that damned lake! And of course for her convenience there was no boat! Meg looked hesitantly over her shoulder. It was suddenly much colder and she shivered. She had come this far, she couldn't turn back! But was it really worth it? Did she _really _want to swim in that dreary lake just to deliver a message that he would ultimately find out himself?

'_But I have to see him…'_Oh to hell with it! Carefully, she stepped down the little stone stairs and into the water. It was like ice…'_Of course it's cold, you fool!'_ Again she looked over her shoulder, as if she was expecting him to appear and save her from her idiocy. No such luck. The lake looked deep, and there was no sense in ruining her dance costume. Meg removed the outer layers until she was left in nothing but a short chemise and her stockings. What a site she would be when she reached Erik.

She put the discarded skirt near the dock and took a deep breath before fully emerging into the water. It was as though a thousand knives had pierced her. Her fingers and toes were numb and she had half a sense to turn around. She fought with herself and somehow managed to keep going. Her lessons on swimming were minimal, having done it maybe once or twice during the summer months; but now, it was such a struggle to lift her arms and kick her legs.

The stress was beginning to drain her. The vigorous ballet practice before this was not an aid to her cause. Meg stopped for one moment and put her weight against a stone pillar. Her hair was sticking to her face and neck, her chest was heaving in her now transparent undergarments, and she was freezing. Honestly, why did she insist on doing such things? But it was not as if she could turn around now, and there was no other exit for her to escape through. Besides, what would her mother say if she showed up in wet garments?

For a few moments, Meg allowed her tears to well up. There was just no way to please everyone. If she focused on making one person happy, someone else was disappointed in her. For once in her life, why couldn't she make _herself_ happy! With a strangled cry, she pushed off the pillar and continued to swim towards her destination. She just wanted to get out of this damned lake!

Finally, she came to the familiar iron-gate that was draped with old stage curtains, obscuring the view of the Phantom's underground lair. Thankfully for her, she knew there was another door. With great difficulty, Meg pushed herself up onto the ledge where the door was hidden. She was shaking uncontrollably and her pale skin looked nearly blue. When she came to the door she rested a quivering hand on the frame and frowned. It looked heavy and she couldn't find the handle.

She had to get inside! She would freeze to death if she couldn't find the handle! Unfortunately she had never used the door before, only watched Erik once a long time ago. Meg was half tempted to pound on it when she saw a tiny lever near the top left corner. It was barely within reach even when she stood on the tips of her toes. The door pushed open with a slight creak and Meg winced at the noise. Surely he would have heard that. Oh but she didn't care! It was so cold!

The door shut behind her and her arms immediately wrapped across her chest. Her teeth were chattering and she looked around for a blanket or towel, anything for warmth. Further away, she saw his black cape lying on the ground. Rushing over to it she threw it around her shoulders, grateful for the little heat that it gave.

Meg looked about her and wondered if Erik was even here. It was awfully quiet and there was no evidence of another being there, save for the lighted candles. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement from one of the rooms. She made her way as quickly as possible into a tiny alcove near a draped mirror.

Peaking out behind the curtain, she watched Erik loosen his collar and untuck the shirt tails from his pants as he made his way to a stand where a score of music was propped. It was then that Meg realized he did not wear his mask! She could not suppress a small gasp and then cursed herself for doing so.

Erik stopped his movements and cocked his head, listening intently. When he turned his head towards her she was allowed a better view of his scarred face. It truly was not as unbearable as she had imagined or horrendous as Joseph Buquet had described. By the length and severity of it, as it covered a small portion of his scalp, it was obvious he had worn a wig when she had been with him. His real hair was a bit thinner with a few brown highlights, falling in wisps across his face. It actually made him look quite attractive…

Meg pushed those thoughts aside as Erik made his way towards her. She held her breath when he looked suspiciously at the spot on the floor that his cape had previously occupied. He stopped a few feet short of where she was hiding.

It appears you have received more than you bargained for. Are you content that you have now seen the face of the Phantom, Little Giry?" His voice was stern, his gaze fierce.

With eyes downcast more out of shame than of fright, Meg moved away from her hiding place. She tightened her grasp on the cape and prayed silently for mercy.

"You wanted to see. Why do you not look upon my humiliating distortion?" he snapped.

Meg looked up at him, her teeth still chattering. "F-f-forgive me, I d-d-didn't mean to intrude…"

He frowned. "You are soaking wet. What happened?"

"I n-n-needed to s-s-see you," She stammered. She was so cold.

For a moment he seemed hesitant to do anything. Perhaps he was afraid that she would turn away from him if he tried to touch her.

"Come, you must get out of those clothes. You'll catch a death of a cold." The anger in his tone died somewhat.

Meg took one step and nearly faltered. In a flash, Erik was at her side. He took her into his arms and carried her over to his bedroom. Being up against his body, Meg could feel the warmth radiating from him. She rested her head against his shoulder and she felt his muscles tense. Clearly he was uncomfortable.

'_He can't possibly be more uncomfortable than me!'_ She thought. She was practically naked!

He carried her to his room where he put her down then bade her sit on the edge of the bed. Meg watched him go about the room with interest. His every movement seemed planned out, poised even. He opened a chest and removed a black velvet robe, then went to hand it to her.

"I'll ruin it!" she tried to protest, and then almost laughed when she realized she was soaking the silky lining of his cape.

"It will be much warmer, I assure you."

She reached out to take it and as soon as it left her fingers, he turned and made for the door.

"I'll have a warm bath prepared for you. Should you acquire more suitable clothing, you may look in the closet."

Meg saw that in one corner of the room there was indeed a small closet. As soon as he walked out of the room, she removed the cape and propped it on a nearby chair. She then proceeded to remove her wet garments and threw them in a corner before tying the robe around her. It was extremely long on the arms and almost touched her feet. She rolled up the sleeves, and walked across the room.

When she opened the closet, she expected to be looking for a shirt and a pair of pants that no longer fit him, but to her surprise, she found a few gowns. They were all darker shades, three reds and one black. It was nothing extravagant, but they would suit her purpose. She reached in and took a deep maroon colored dress when she frowned suddenly. What on earth was Erik doing with dresses down here?

It was nothing she could concern herself with now. All she wanted was that warm bath. Meg laid the dress out on the bed and walked out of the room. She watched as Erik put a couple towels next to the steaming bath. Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked down the stairs and stopped in front of the tub.

'_It's a little out in the open…'_she thought nervously. Why did that thought not bother her as it should have?

"It should be warm enough. I'll have some tea ready when you're finished," He said quietly, his gaze focused away from her.

As he left her, he pulled a curtain across the corner and attached it to a hook.

Meg removed the robe and slowly sunk into the inviting warmth. She sighed when she had fully submerged and rested her head against the side. Her tense muscled began to relax, and the aching in her limbs were soothed. There was going to be so much pressure on her now that rehearsals were beginning for the new production, as there was for every production. She couldn't even remember the last time she was able to get quiet time for herself. For just a few moments she was able to pretend she was someone else with a different, less demanding life.

Her fantasies faded when she heard movement and the cluttering of papers. It was then that she truly realized how close he was to her and what a vulnerable state she was in. She closed her eyes and envisioned him kneeling beside the tub, kneading her sore muscles with his gifted hands. Before she could retract it, she let out a soft moan. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with apprehension. Did he hear her? '_Oh God!'_

Meg sat quietly for a few moments, listening for sounds. If he had heard her, he was not making it obvious because things were still being moved. She closed her eyes in some what of relief, scolding herself for such foolish thoughts. She proceeded to wash herself and then reached for a towel that was lying on the floor.

Quickly drying herself, she reached for the discarded robe and wrapped it tightly around her before pulling back the curtain. Her movements caught Erik's attention and he looked up at her from the bench at his organ. He had replaced his mask and wig and his shirt hung loosely on his body. For a brief moment, they held their gaze in silence. Meg felt a surge of pleasant heat course through her before giving him a meek smile and turned to leave.

Was it wrong for her to feel this way about a man she had known since she was a girl? For so long she had to remind herself that the relationship between them was strictly professional…but why did it have to be professional with her and not Christine? Granted, Christine was in a bit of a predicament with this new revelation, but Meg was not so stupid to believe that Erik would give up on her so easily. Erik would do anything and everything in his power to make Christine happy…

'_But why Christine and not me! Have I not been loyal and obedient in every way you asked of me! Damn you, Erik!'_

Meg sat down on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. It was so unlike her to be this selfish. What right did she have to tell people who they should love? With a slight shake of her head, Meg got up changed her clothes and hesitantly made her way out of the room.

She stood in the doorway and looked out at her surroundings. This place, in an odd sort of way, felt like a second home to her, but she dared not speak such thoughts aloud. She walked down a couple of steps then froze in her place when she peeked behind another curtain. There, illuminated in the darkness by several candles, was a life size mannequin of Christine wearing a wedding dress. Meg had never noticed this piece, perhaps it was new. The very appearance of it was frightening, and for a moment, she actually began to question Erik's sanity.

"I trust you are feeling more comfortable?" he asked, causing her to jump a little with unease.

Meg glanced at him, but she soon realized that he had not even looked at her. His head was bent and his shoulder hunched over a little as he continued to scribble notes on a sheet of paper.

"Yes, thank you." She walked down the rest of the stone steps in her bare feet and stood to the side of the grand organ.

Never lifting his gaze from his work he said, "There is some tea on my desk, however it is still quite hot. Take care not to burn yourself."

Meg looked over at his desk where the model of the stage stood. On it, she noticed pieces from _Il Muto_ already set in place. It reminded her of why she had come here in the first place. Strictly business, strictly professional…

"Um, Erik?" She asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

'_Could he stop writing for one minute!'_

"I have something, well, important to tell you. You will not be pleased."

"It would probably have something to do with those two idiots who call themselves managers, I daresay."

Did he already know? She began to wring the material of her dress nervously in her hands.

"Well, yes I'm afraid it does."

Finally, he set down his pen and looked up at her. Now that he had focused his attention on her, Meg suddenly wished that he hadn't. Yet his reaction to her next words had thrown her off entirely.

"They are disobeying your orders again, Erik. They have told Carlotta that she will be playing the lead."

A small, knowing smile touched his lips. "It seems my eyes and ears are ever diligent even when my mind is elsewhere."

Meg felt a blush grace her cheeks. "I…I just thought you should know. Even though I knew you would find out…"

"Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. I will be sure to take heed of your warnings." Erik again turned his attention to his work.

She had the most haunting feeling that she had just set the embers of a disastrous fire aflame. Then another thought crossed her mind. Perhaps she could distract him from planning too fatal destructions.

"I'm sure you're mother will be wondering where you are. I will guide you back in a moment."

His words interrupted her train of thought. It was rather late, and there was another practice her mother wished to rehearse, but, she didn't want to leave! Not yet…

"Erik?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"My music lesson…it was…overlooked, yesterday."

Erik rose from his seat without looking at her and began to shuffle loose papers together.

"So it was, but I imagine you have other things to attend to with a new opera to produce."

"No, please." Meg gently wrested a hand on his arm. He stopped his movements and she could feel that he had gone rigid. She quickly removed her hand, hoping that he would not turn on her.

"If you would not mind, I would like to practice now."

Erik turned to her, but the expression in his eyes was confusing. She could not tell if he was annoyed or just shocked by her insistence.

"Very well, shall we go through your exercises first?"

Meg nodded and he sat back down on his bench. For a half hour she exercised until he finally deemed it time to perform a song. She watched nervously as he shifted through papers, trying to decide which opera to choose from.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, removing the score from the pile. "This one will be perfect."

She looked at his face and noticed a small smile. His eyes seemed to have lit up. She then glanced at the score and paled. Her stomach dropped and she lost her voice for a moment. On the music stand was the very song Christine had sung the night before. But Meg was not a soprano, she was an alto. There would be no chance of her reaching all the pitches necessary to please her instructor.

"Erik…" she stammered.

"What?"

"I can't…it's not…"

"You can't what?" He snapped. The look he gave her made her heart thud heavily in her breast. A soft sheen of perspiration began to glisten on her forehead.

"I will not be able to sing this, Erik…I'm not a soprano."

"You would displease me by _not_ singing it?"

Meg was barely able to suppress a gasp. "Erik, you know I could never displease you…but what you are asking of me is impossible. I would displease you _by_ singing it!"

Erik straightened his shoulders, his hands resting on the keys. "You will sing this…from the beginning of the aria."

"Please! Erik, I can't do this!" She felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

"You asked for your music lesson, did you not! I am your tutor and I know what is best for my student!" He got up from his seat and stood over her.

"Then you would know I can not sing this piece! You only want me to sing it because it reminds you of Christine!" Her hand flew to her mouth in utter astonishment. She hadn't meant to say it, but it was the truth! How could he ask her to do this!

"How dare you…my business is mine and mine alone! How dare you bring her into this!"

He began to advance on her, causing Meg to move backwards blindly.

"You sneak into my house uninvited! You don't even have to decency to tell me that you're here, but instead choose to gawk at my deformity! And now you meddle in my affairs without a second thought! You ignorant child!" he screamed at her.

He had backed her into a table ledge and she was shaking terrible, but his last statement was enough to help her overcome his menacing attack.

"A child? Is that all you see me as! I am two years Christine's senior! I'm 19, Erik! And yet you insist on calling me a child?" she questioned, straightening her posture.

She had never spoken that aloud to anyone, but now as she said it, she did feel much older. She was a woman now!

Erik was silent for a moment and Meg could feel his burning gaze travel the length of her body before he made eye contact with her. Perhaps he was taking her word seriously. She gained a little confidence at this.

"Christine is like a sister to me, you know this. I played a horrible role in your little scheme and now I've seen the consequences of my mistake."

"You know _nothing_ of what transpired last night, mademoiselle. _Nothing_…"

His formal usage made her wince slightly, but she dared not falter in front of him.

"I know she fears you now, and you can't bear it…" she whispered.

Erik took another step closer to her, his body mere millimeters from hers.

"You walk a very, _very_ thin line. Take care how you choose your words…" he whispered, leaning towards her ear.

His breath on her skin made her shiver with anticipation. He was so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She was so tempted to just tilt her head and press her lips against his.

"Or you'll what, monsieur?" She repeated his formality.

Erik grabbed her roughly by the hips and forced her onto the table ledge. Her eyes widened in shock, but she made no move to try and stop him.

"You try my patience…and yet your refusal to acknowledge death when it is staring you in the face is admirable. Do you truly fear nothing?" He had his head so that his lips were lingering above hers tauntingly.

Meg had closed her eyes, waiting for his assault.

"At the moment? No…" she replied breathlessly.

"Good," he murmured before he brought her into a forceful, breathtaking kiss…

please review! thank you:-)


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